“Hello,” she whispered.
“Can I help you?”
The woman still didn’t look up. Ursula let the silence grow heavier than the woman’s fear. It took less time than she’d guessed it would before the woman dragged her stare up to meet Ursula’s gaze. Her eyes widened, and the words poured out.
Her name was Diane. She and her husband had fled Vietnam after the war. She’d concealed all her jewelry in her youngest daughter’s diaper and managed to keep it hidden on the long journey to America. Her husband had brought them to Minnesota, where he sold her precious gold to buy a restaurant in a river town where everyone looked the same.
She was proud of her cooking and her ability to honor the principle of five elements in every dish—five spices and five colors corresponding to five organs, senses, and elements. Her specialty was lau canh chua, a bright, sour soup simmering with slivers of shrimp and crab, cheerful pineapple floating against deep red tomatoes, bamboo shoots, and a hint of tamarind paste.
Her English was good enough to converse with her regulars, the people she cooked special dishes for and those who came for her sweet-n-sour pork. She didn’t tell them the latter was not a Vietnamese dish; they liked knowing only what they knew. She smiled when she talked, a big toothy grin, and to all her customers, she was cheerful, forever happy, the perfect hostess. On the surface, this was true. Her daughters were ungrateful, her husband sullen, her son living across country, but she recognized that she was lucky to be alive and a day didn’t pass when she didn’t thank Jesus Christ for her family’s safety and their new country. But she wasn’t happy, and her dissatisfaction had nothing to do with her family.
She was sad in her secret soul because she’d never sung in public.
She’d saved for years, stealing pennies here and there, to purchase her own home karaoke machine. Her husband mocked her, asked why’d she buy something she wasn’t going to use. Her daughters played around with it for a few weeks but grew bored. None of them knew that she stole downstairs when they were asleep, mouthing the words to “Dancing Queen” with headphones cupping her ears. It made her heart soar, but it was just practice for the day when she was brave enough to pick up the microphone at the VFW on Karaoke and Taco Tuesday.
Her speech over, she drew a shuddering breath, her gaze still locked on Ursula’s. “Please. You help me?”
In helping people, Ursula could scrub at the spiritual stain of her father’s death. It felt even better to help when they were good people, like Diane. If she was quick, and she always was, she could give this woman what she needed and still have plenty of time to prepare for Katrine’s party tonight.
Ursula smiled. “I think I have just what you need.”
The Catalain Book of Secrets: Stage Fright
Every great dream carries with it an equally powerful fear. This is the natural balance of things, as every front requires a back. The danger comes when a person confuses the fear for the dream and spends more time imagining, dreading, and planning for the bad than the good. A balanced tincture of yellow jessamine, peppermint oil, and lunar caustic, with 190 proof Everclear as the solvent, will dissolve this fear and anxiety. If you find yourself short on materials, you can eliminate the jessamine, peppermint oil, and lunar caustic.
Chapter 10
The Queen Anne
Velda was the first to arrive. She came empty-handed, always, her once jet black hair now a glorious grey, her petite form barely brushing the surface of the Queen Anne’s wraparound porch. The boards of the steps creaked a greeting. At her side walked Artemis Hartshorn Buckley, a tiny man, lean as beef jerky, whose name was bigger than he was.
Artemis was known across five counties as the man who’d tied 523 helium balloons to his favorite lawn chair and floated up and across the highway to Pelican Lake, where he’d come down in twenty feet of water.
When asked why he’d done it, he’d said, “It’s life. You can’t wait for it.”
That was last summer. Velda had tracked him down after she’d read about him in the Faith Falls Gazette, and they’d stuck to each other like tree sap since then. She’d tried to seduce him at first, but he’d talked her out of it, and they’d settled into a steady friendship.
“Squirrel meatballs,” Artemis said, handing Helena a steaming crockpot at the door. He lived downriver in a cabin he’d built with his own hands. He made a living as a carpenter but didn’t require much as he lived off the land where possible.
“Oh. Do they taste like chicken?” Helena offered a helpful smile.
“Nope. Taste like squirrel. You look mighty sharp tonight.”
Velda nodded in agreement as Helena covered her surprised expression and smoothed the flowered, lemon-yellow dress over her ample hips. “Thank you. Make yourself at home.”
“Don’t mind if we do.” Artemis led Velda to the drawing room to the right of the foyer, the central gathering place in the house after the kitchen. The drawing room was an enormous space with dark, hardwood floors and high ceilings. Two walls were decorated with bookshelves, and the other two were hung with rich oil paintings in mahogany frames mixed with watercolors Helena had created in a community ed class and even some framed finger paintings from when Jasmine and Katrine were younger. Mismatched but comfortable chairs and two couches were arrayed throughout the room, and a fire flickered in the marble fireplace. The flame was small and unnecessary during warm summer evenings, but it created a sense of coziness in the gigantic room.
The smell of woodsmoke twined with the roasting chickens and corn on the cob in the backyard barbeque pit, which could be accessed by walking through the open French doors on the far side of the drawing room. Sweating bottles of white wine, beer, and water poked out of a tub of ice near one of the French doors. Artemis grabbed a Leinenkugel and poured Velda a glass of Riesling. Velda accepted the cool wine and added three limes. Helena mixed herself a white wine spritzer, and followed her mother, still nervous after all these years. When Ursula and Velda got together, even the air held its breath.
Xenia, sensing her sister’s distress, came out from the kitchen, her hair pulled back into a tight black bun, a bag of sourdough rolls in her hand. “Good to see you, Mother.”
Velda stood on her tiptoes to hug her and then stepped back. “Is Ursula grilling?”
The twins nodded, their eyes bright. They would have been surprised to know that they were standing in identical stances, arms crossed, heads cocked.
“I’ll go say hi.” Velda strolled out to the barbeque pit, the twins following close behind. Ursula was bent over the smoking grill, spatula in hand.
“Smells good enough,” Velda said.
Ursula ignored the comment. “She’s been in her room since she arrived,” she said, nodding up at the second story of the house.
Velda glanced at the second floor window. It was open, white curtains fluttering out into the soft breeze. “Ever think about going to talk to her?”
“Xenia and Helena have both been up there, trying to comfort her. She told them she wants to be alone to rest, and I respected that. I peeked on her between clients, and she was asleep.”
“It’s true,” Helena interrupted. “She’s been sleeping straight through.”
Velda clucked, ignoring Helena’s interjection. “Being a mother never did come easy to you.”
Ursula’s posture crumpled, but she kept turning the corn. Artemis, who had followed Velda outdoors, watched both women, his face keen.
When she didn’t get a rise, Velda sighed and began walking toward the house. “I wish, just once, you’d show some fight, Ursula. I’ll go get Katrine. Sometimes you need someone to pull you back into the game.”
Helena scrambled straight to Ursula, tut-tutting with worry and holding out a tray that she had grabbed from the picnic table. “More candy?”
“You’ve been pushing that patience candy on me all day,” Ursula said, her voice kind but strained. “You know I don’t like pecans.”
“Divinity, then?”
Ursula smiled at her sister. “No. Thank you. I’m fine.”
“We’ll have to be sure to not ask Katrine too many questions, isn’t that right?” Helena asked no one in particular, voicing the exact opposite of what she was dying to do. She offered her tray of sweets to Artemis, who took two brown patience candies and a dollop of divinity, made a sandwich with them, and popped it into his mouth. “She’s had a long trip and doesn’t need us all landing on her like flies.”
Xenia stepped over and patted her twin on the shoulder. “We’re all as worried as you are, but I think it’s the best plan. We don’t want to scare her off again. She’ll talk to us when she’s ready, though it’d be nice to know how long she’s planning to stay. I hope it’s for a good long time. Family’s where you need to be when things turn sour.”
Velda glided outside within minutes, toting her withdrawn granddaughter. Katrine wore a beautifully-cut taupe pantsuit, but walked like a grounded bird. The Queen Anne remembered her as the prettiest girl in town growing up. She’d attracted boys and envious stares equally, and while there was a shadow of that insouciant glamour still there, her hunched spine and travel-worn hair pulled into a messy pony tail spoke of exhaustion rather than beauty. Even her Catalain green eyes, the color of the secret parts of the ocean, were faded.
Before Katrine’s aunts could form a protective barrier around her, Artemis appeared in her path and offered his hand. “Name is Artemis. You must be Katrine. How’re you doing?” He had a fleck of divinity stuck between his front teeth, which were otherwise white and evenly-spaced.
The women, all but Velda, stared, their hair swollen and standing up at their necks. Helena moved forward with her tray of candy, but before she reached her niece, Katrine turned to Xenia in lieu of answering Artemis. “I wouldn’t mind a glass of summer wine. Can you point me in the right direction?”
“I’ll get it for you,” Xenia said, disappearing through the French doors.
Katrine returned her tired attention to Artemis, who despite his forthright manner, occupied his space comfortably, like a rocking chair or a favorite sweater. “I’m fine.”
He nodded. “You’ve been living in Europe?”
“London, actually. I moved there after I graduated from college. A long time ago.”
“They’ve got good beer there, yuh?”
“I suppose.”
“Welcome home.” Artemis rubbed his elbow and glanced around at the group. “Anyone need a fresh drink?”
The women exhaled. Ursula spoke first. “I’ll take some red wine. The chicken must be about done. Katrine, I’ve prepared grilled mushrooms and corn for you.”
“I’m not hungry. Just the wine for now.”
Xenia returned with a glass of Riesling for Katrine and claret for Ursula. She exchanged a quick look with Helena. “Jasmine might be coming, too. But we won’t wait for her if the food is just about ready. Why don’t we go inside and set the table?”
Velda kept her eyes on Katrine. “We should eat dinner outside. One night off of a full moon, and the frogs are singing.”
“I wouldn’t mind eating outdoors,” Artemis said. “It’s best to soak up August before winter sucks all the heat out of your bones.”
“Great idea,” Helena agreed. She returned seconds later with paper plates and flowered napkins, and Artemis helped her set the picnic table. When he winked at her, she flushed and looked away. “And I’ve got a new candy recipe I want you to try. Later. After we eat.”
Katrine smiled. It wasn’t up to the standard of her old grin, which stopped men and women in their tracks, but it was a start. “I can’t wait.”
The house creaked, almost as if it wished for arms to hold them.
Chapter 11
Katrine
The small bonfire, set off from Ursula’s garden, crackled in the starry night. Beyond it rested Ursula’s work cottage. Behind that, the river gossiped and crooned, trying like a child to gain Katrine’s attention, but she was too deep inside herself to hear. The guests were warm from wine and food, and circled the fire in a companionable silence, broken when Artemis wondered how long Katrine would be staying.
Her response, when it came, prickled. “I don’t know.”
“Honey, you don’t have to know,” Helena said. “You can stay as long as you want, right? This is your home.”
“It is quite the home,” Katrine said absently, looking at the grand old Queen Anne through the flicker of the fire. She realized she didn’t know the story of it before her mom remodeled it. “Your parents built it, right?”
“Eve and Ennis Catalain,” Velda said.
“Tell me everything,” Katrine said. Her question was prompted by a desire to not have to talk more than curiosity. Across the fire, Ursula’s eyes glittered.
Velda’s reluctance was written on her face. She kept it short. Her parents, Ursula’s grandparents, moved to town in the early 1900s, when it was an established hub. They were rich, and they were loved, at least at first. They wanted a large house to entertain in. Like many of the homes constructed by wealthy Midwesterners at the end of the nineteenth century, the structure was a solid, drafty, rambling Queen Anne-style Victorian. Eve had wanted a turret, cantilevered gables, and a wraparound front porch. Ennis had added second-story oriels and on the third story, deep-set porthole windows surrounded by ornate trim. The result was the enormous, nooked and crannied, magical gingerbread house mansion.
“I spent the first twenty years of my life in that mausoleum,” Velda said, indicating the house whose shadow they rested in.
Ursula only nodded. Velda was now in her element. She wanted an audience, not a conversation.
“Nobody knew where Eve and Ennis came from. Some said New Orleans, others claimed Boston, but whatever the city, everyone knew they came from money.” Velda’s expression grew distant. “Your grandmother was a beauty. Stunning. She threw elaborate parties and organized town dances and the annual mummer’s parade. Her homemade liquor was legendary. In fact, a charming rumor began to circulate that her mulled hard cider was so delicious that it could turn back time, though surely only those who drank too much believed it.” Velda allowed a small smile.
“Ennis was handsome, too. He and Eve travelled, bringing back new styles, felted and feathered Homburg hats, silks from the Orient. One year, after a particularly long absence, they brought back a daughter. Me.” Velda’s voice was bitter. “I was as pretty as a doll and just as biddable. People begged to hold me, would brag for days if they could coax a laugh from me. That’s what Eve told me later.”
Despite herself, Katrine was leaning forward, hanging on Velda’s every word. Such was her grandmother’s magic. “Where did they go?”
Velda cut her eyes to the side. “Died. Car accident.”
Xenia had heard the story before and had little patience for repetition. “You can help us out at the store,” she offered, putting the focus back on Katrine. “We need extra hands this time of year. The tourists are crazy about Helena’s chocolates.”
Helena smiled with pride. “They come for your dresses, Xenia, and you know it. They just buy the candy so I don’t feel bad.”
“I’d love to see the place,” Katrine said. “Seven Daughters, right?”
“You’ve never been to it?” Artemis asked.
Katrine shook her head. She’d been in a different world. She had the good grace to feel ashamed of how disconnected she’d become from her family, even if it hadn’t been intentional but rather death by neglect. She knew she wouldn’t like herself much if she were meeting herself for the first time, and the image almost made her smile. Well hello, Katrine. So nice to meet you. How long have you been this uptight and controlling? A couple years? How wonderful. And self-involved, too? Great. Your dance card must be super-full.
“Well, then Seven Daughters is as good a place to start as any in reacquainting yourself,” Artemis said. “It’s the only store that seems to be riding high, no matter the economy.”
“I’m sure the store is great. I don’t know how long I’ll be around, though.” Thinking about her next move felt like too much of a commitment, or like admitting to failure. Both the past and the future were overwhelming. She wanted to be still.
“Still too cool for Faith Falls,” came a voice from the side of the house.
Katrine turned, her pulse lifting. “Jasmine?”
Her sister stepped into the light. A teenager was at her side, looking so much like a Catalain that she could only be Tara. Both had Helena’s curly blonde hair, but the firelight hollowed their cheeks and flickered on their lean frames, bringing to mind Xenia. They both had the jewel-green Catalain eyes.
The sky snapped. It was the first time all seven had been together: Velda with her glamour, Ursula who concocted potions, Xenia the maker of dresses, Helena the candy crafter, Katrine with her sporadic mind reading, Jasmine and her forsaken cooking magic, and Tara the wild card.
“We can’t stay long,” Jasmine lied. “Dean’s waiting for us.”
Katrine stood and moved forward, her step tentative but lighter than it had been since she’d arrived. She didn’t know who she wanted to hug first, her sister or her niece, and the palpable strength of her love for both scared her. To protect herself, she stopped, indicating the covered dish in Jasmine’s hands. “Please tell me that’s your apple cake.”
She hadn’t known how much she’d been craving it—moist, packed with morsels of still-warm apple, the cream cheese frosting laced with cinnamon and nutmeg. It could cure a sore throat on contact and, if you took seconds, it gave you the church giggles. Katrine hadn’t tasted it since she was fourteen years old.
“Pie. This is my daughter Tara, by the way.”
The girl studied Katrine with steady eyes. She was fourteen, all elbows, knees, and front teeth, but she stood with her back straight, a student of life already. Katrine nodded at her, a tiny smile flickering at the corner of her mouth. This was the first time she’d laid eyes on her niece. The girl was a beauty. “Pleased to meet you. The photos your mom sent don’t do you justice.”
The Catalain Book of Secrets Page 5
